


breathe

by ohhgoodgravy



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, I'm really sorry, Lots of Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sad, SnowBaz, agatha is a boss, drunk!Simon, drunk!baz, drunk!snowbaz, kind of, kiss, poor bby, sad vamp, simon has a panic attack, very sad vamp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-09 03:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17399588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhgoodgravy/pseuds/ohhgoodgravy
Summary: “Loving you is as inescapable as breathing.”He looks back at me and my eyes widen in a small panic. I hadn’t realised that I had said it.“Well, we all know what happens when you hold your breath.” Simon holds my face in his hands and gives a quick, soft kiss to my nose. “Breathe, Baz.”





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic and it's soo bad that i really only posted it because maybe someone out there is bored and might enjoy it for a bit

_drunk snowbaz_

**SIMON**

Her nails are purple. She would scold me for calling them “purple.” Penny would too, but for different reasons. Penny would tell me to be more articulate. “What  _type_ of purple, Simon?” she’d say. “You aren’t going to get any better at casting spells if you don’t learn how to say what you mean.” Agatha would just be mad at me for not appreciating the exact shade that she picked for her nails. She probably painted them herself -- Penny says she likes to do that -- which probably adds to her pride over them.

But now isn’t really the time to make such casual comments on things like nail colour. Or to point out that we’re missing dinner right now. 

Agatha squeezes my hand. “Simon, are you alright?” she whispers. I don’t know why she whispers it. I guess because we’re pulled into an empty classroom and we’re probably not allowed to be here. Or maybe she’s trying to comfort me. Probably that.

“I just--” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?” I open my eyes again and I must look as crushed as I feel because she flinches. It makes me feel worse. 

“No, Simon. Of course not.” Her other hand -- the one that isn’t holding mine -- reaches for my shoulder and rubs soothingly up and down. Small motions.

_Small steps_ , I say to myself.  _Small steps. Breathe and take small steps. Small_ thinking  _steps._ I repeat it over and over again in my head until I decide what exactly it means.  _Penny. What would Penny do?_

I instantly begin to draw up a mini board inside my head with two sides.  _“What I do understand”_ and “  _What I don’t understand”_ takes up opposite sides of the imaginary board. What I understand: I love Agatha and Agatha loves me. What I don’t understand: Agatha doesn’t love me. I furrow my brows together and wonder how both of these things can be true. If Agatha loves me, why is she standing here telling me that she doesn’t? And if she doesn’t love me, why did she stand with me for years telling me that she did? Was it because of my title? Was she using me for my power?

I shake my head free of these thoughts. Penny didn’t help. Penny made it worse. Then, in a moment of self-betrayal, I think what would Baz do and I inwardly groan.  _Baz._ Fucking  _Baz._ in the end, it’s always him. He crawls his way into my brain and invades every single thought of mine and suddenly, I’m so sick of it. I can’t even be fucking dumped without thinking about how he’s plotting against me, and he is isn't he? He’s probably sitting in our room this very moment plotting my downfall and here I am asking myself how to be more like him. 

Sometimes I think about the complete disaster that is my life, but most of the time I try not to. I like to push it to the very back of my mind and convince myself that I’m going to return to the thought tomorrow and sort it out when I never do.

Baz isn’t like that. I  _can’t_ do that with Baz. I’m not sure I’ve even ever fully tried. It’s an impossible feat. It’s not even worth my time and energy to make pointless efforts to try to stop thinking about him. I think if I weren't so distracted by my worries regarding Baz all the time, I would’ve already found a way to defeat the Insidious Humdrum. I’m sure Penny would agree; She hates it when I go on tangents about Baz.

“If you really despise him as much as you say you do then you should stop feeding into his games by allowing him to fill your time and eat your wits. He’s consuming your life, Simon.” 

“Exactly!” I had said.

She rolled her eyes dramatically; The kind of roll that goes all the way around the room slow enough to sit in silence for a few seconds. It’s an Agatha thing to do but Penny has picked up on her dramatic nature over the years. “Not like  _that_ , Simon.” I threw my hands up, annoyed. She rubs her temples like a mother dealing with an impatient toddler. “It’s almost like you force him to be more evil in your mind than he actually is.” 

“Evil plotting  _vampire_ , Penny. He’s a threat!”

“Not the biggest threat. Big picture, Simon.”

I knew that Baz wasn’t my biggest threat. Even then, I knew. But, I think a part of me thought a little differently. The Humdrum is a mystery. The Humdrum is erratic and unpredictable and odd, but Baz is too. Baz is dark and sharp and  _cool_. Baz is dangerous because he’s extremely gifted in the art of sneaking his way into your every thought and action. He carries himself like he already knows everything that you don’t want him to. He’s dangerous because he’s in control. He’s everything I wish I was and everything I’m glad I’m not all at once. Just a single mention of him can set me off balance for the rest of the day. It makes me angry how easy I make it for him, but I can’t help myself. 

“I think I’ve just decided that this isn’t what I want,” Agatha says now, eyes wide and nervous. 

“Me?” I regret saying it as soon as I see the look on her face, but I couldn’t stop it. With my brain in this confused state, it just tumbled past my lips without warning. The small classroom (a tutor room maybe?) feels empty and cold; like all the warmth in the room has been sucked out. I try to control my face to stop myself from showing how truly hurt I am. I try to be a wall.  _Be like Baz. Why can’t I be like Baz?_ I wonder how it is that Baz is always so cool and collected? Surely he must have feelings sometimes. It’s infuriating the think of all the times that I’ve gone red in the face from him poking at me when the most I get is one raised perfectly arched brow. 

She sighs. “Simon--” I put my hand up to stop her. It’s not like I hadn’t seen this coming: Agatha and I have been on and off for the past year. I guess now it just seems so permanent.

“No,” I say. I think about how unhappy she’s been lately and how unsure I’ve felt. “You--you don’t need to explain yourself. It’s okay. I’m...okay.” She looks at me like she wants to anyways, but she clamps her mouth shut and looks at her shoes. “Hey,” I add. “I just want you to be happy.” I cup her face with my hand. She smiles sadly and puts hers over mine. 

“Now, Simon.” She smiles. “Don’t go making me second guess myself.” I laugh but almost cry. She hugs me. “Thank you, Simon. I  _do_ love you just--not in the way I’m supposed to.”

“I know. I love you, Aggie,” I whisper back.  _Be Baz._ “Thank you. You know, for...telling me? I wouldn’t want to keep you where you’re not happy.”  _Be Baz._

I think I’m going to cry.

We stay like that -- my face buried in her long hair and her arms wrapped around my middle -- for a couple minutes; just until the awkward aura is back. She pulls away first. Her eyes are glossy and soft when she looks at me. I find myself hoping that she changes her mind.  _Tell me that you’ve made a mistake. Tell me we’re too good to give up on. Tell me you love me._

She rubs my shoulder once more and takes two steps back. “Well,” she starts, smiling. “I’ve made you late enough for dinner.” I nod in the polite  _I-don’t-know-what-to-say_ way and wait for her to say something else. She doesn’t. We walk out of the small room silently. When we get to the hall, I turn for the cafeteria. I only get about three steps before realising that Agatha hasn’t moved from the doorway.

I reach out to grab her hand but stop abruptly and blush red. I hope that she didn’t notice, but I think that she did. “Aren’t you uhh--coming? For dinner?” 

She shakes her head. “I think I’m just gonna study for a bit. I’m not really hungry.” I nod and swallow roughly.

“Okay,” I manage. “Well. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. At breakfast?” I say the last part as a question.  _Will I see her tomorrow? Does this mean we won’t sit with each other anymore?_ I think my mind is still trying to grasp the fact that I was just dumped. Not dumped. Dumped seems too strong a word for what just happened. She was so  _nice_ about it that I couldn’t even be upset with her. She’s perfectly wonderful, even when she’s telling me that she doesn’t want to be with me anymore.

“Sure, Simon.” She walks away like she just finished a fucking dance solo--all power and grace. She looks like she’s walking on water; like she’s  _free_.

I don’t feel powerful or graceful. I don’t feel free; I feel like shit. It feels like there is a weight at the bottom of my stomach that is pulling at me to just fall on the ground and never get up. I don’t understand if this pull is coming from my hunger or my mood, but it makes me feel full nonetheless so I decide to skip dinner and start walking towards Mummer’s House. I can’t possibly imagine explaining to Penny why I was late for dinner. I can’t even imagine what she would say, much less how I would respond. (Would I tell the truth? Well, I wouldn’t lie to her, but how much of the truth would I tell?) The only thing that I can think about is Agatha walking away. Agatha being free. Why don’t I feel like that? Why does she? If she really loves me (no matter which way -- romantically or otherwise) then why does she walk away like I was holding her down? Does she like someone else? Is there already someone else? No, Agatha wouldn’t cheat on me. She might be the most beautiful girl at Watford -- one that could have anyone with a single glance -- but she never would. I know Agatha. She’s good.

She’s so  _good_. She’s sweet and caring. (She seems to feel sympathetic for even Baz sometimes.) (I’ll never understand.) But now my thoughts are tumbling further and further into the dark pit of my mind and I can practically  _see_ my magic in front of me. It’s like I’ve created my own atmosphere of smoke and heat and just  _pure_ _magic_.

_Did she break up with me because I’m a terrible mage? Because I can’t defeat the Humdrum. Because I can’t even defeat Baz? Because I’m weak and stupid and I’m an awful boyfriend?_

I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my hands over my ears to stop the throbbing hum of my erratic magic around me.

When I finally reach the stairs at Mummer’s House, I can’t help but wonder if Baz keeps any fancy alcohol in our room.

 ---

**BAZ**

The end of my day is always, undoubtedly the worst part of my day. While I’m away from Snow during the better part of the day, he makes up for his absence by being a complete nuisance in whatever way he can in our room. My time at Mummer’s House is always as short as I can make it but even after spending hours in the catacombs to avoid Snow, the light in our shared room is still lit. I check the time on my watch.  _3:04._   _What the_ fuck  _is Snow doing awake at 3 in the morning?_ I outwardly groan because nobody can hear me and because he’s probably “sneakily” waiting for me to return. It’s times like these when I seriously consider laying down on the grassy hill, closing my eyes and falling asleep peacefully for once. 

When I nudge open the door. Snow is propped against my bed, his head leaning back to rest on my mattress, and his feet stretched out straight in front of him. Several empty water bottles are scattered throughout the room; some besides him and some in the corner by the door where I stand.

“Snow,” I start. His wide blue eyes spring open and instantly meet mine, so quickly that it’s creepy. “What the  _fuck_ is going on.” He grins.

“Baz.” Snow throws his head back against my bed again and laughs maniacally. I stare at him quizzically. “Baz. Baz Baz Baz,” he mutters in between laughs. He says my name so many times, by the end he’s just buzzing: “bzz, bzz, bzz.” His eyes are closed now, so I take a moment to look at him closely for the first time in weeks, really. I’ve been trying to limit myself lately. It hasn’t been working.

His hair is tangled and pointed in every direction, which isn’t at all a surprise to me -- he  _never_ tends to it. He’s blushing slightly. It’s not his normal burst of colour -- all red and angry; the type that spreads from your cheeks to your neck and the tips of your ears. This is a slight tinge of pink brushed across his face, ear to ear; so light that I’m sure no one would notice unless they had nearly obsessively mapped out Snow’s face the way that I have.

I nudge a bottle with my shoe before kicking it to his side of the room. He’s still muttering at the ceiling.

“Why the fuck are there bottles everywhere?”

“Tequila!” He shouts far too loudly, throwing his arms above his head and resting them on my bed.

“Get off my bed,” I say because I don’t know what else to do but to act like everything is normal.  
“M’not on your bed.” He bites his lip in a smile and looks at me mischievously. My eyes flicker to his lip between his teeth and I feel a warm blush spread across my cheek as I inwardly curse the rats I have just drained in the catacombs. _He’s completely smashed_ , I think to myself and smirk.

I put my hands in my pockets and lean against the doorway, swiftly crossing my ankles. “Exactly how plastered are you?” Snow grins.

“M’not.” His stomach growls loud enough that I hear it clearly from where I’m standing. 

“Drinking on an empty stomach, are we Snow? Have you skipped dinner?” I say, then wonder if I sound too needy so I add, “I wonder what they’ll do with all the leftovers without you there to ensure that not a crumb gets left behind.”

“S’fine. Y’know, I heard once or read once or-” he pauses to hiccup, “-  _something_ once that if you’re hungry then you aren’t really. You’re thirsty, so,” he lifts his bottle and takes a hefty swig.

“No, Snow. You have no idea how wrong that is.”

“If this is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right,” he says, giggling. 

“Are you even aware of what you’re saying at this point?” He shrugs.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I can assure you that in the morning you will be saying something different.”

He gestures to the room around him. 

“This,” he says. I raise my brow and step into the room. 

“This?”

“This.  _This_! Everything.” He’s laughing again. A sad sort of laugh. One that sounds like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.

I never thought I’d see the day that Simon Snow gave up. I start walking towards him and I think he thinks I’m going to hurt him because he squeezes his eyes shut and leans his head back against my bed. I don’t. I lean against the side of his bed and slide down next to him. He looks at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. I roll my eyes in an attempt to hide my own surprise and snatch the plastic bottle out of his hand, first taking a sniff,  then a huge swig. It burns my throat all the way down to my stomach. 

“You couldn't have bought nicer tequila?”

He shakes his head, eyes still wide and doleful.

“I didn’t buy it.”

“Well, who bought it then.”

“No. No one. I spelled it.”

“You spelled _it,_ ” I repeat dumbly. He nods. “How?”

To my absolute horror, he begins to belt out the song  _Tequila_ , focusing mainly on the instrumentals, but ending with a strong,  ** _“TEQUILA!”_**  

I stare at him dumbfounded. “That’s not a spell.” He shrugs. I stare at the bottle in my hand, wondering for a second if he even is able to comprehend the magnificence of his uncontrollable magic. I quickly shake the look of awe off my face and settle for my usual bored glare as my eyes meet his. “At least try to spell some Don Julio next time, would you? Can’t even work your own fucking spell right.” He just shrugs again and I can tell that he’s done talking right now so I wait for him to take a drink and then I do too.

So this is the great Chosen One.  _No_ , I think.  _He’s not the Chosen One. He’s just a boy. He’s a teenage boy. One who experiences difficult exams and boater hats and breakups._

We drink an awkward silence that, as more bottle become empty, becomes less awkward and more peaceful. I wonder silently why he’s drinking, and whether he’s ever gotten drunk before. Then I wonder why I’m drinking.  _Probably because the boy I love is destined to kill me and happens to be holding an unlimited supply to tequila, so why not?_

And that’s just what we do. We sit, silently passing a plastic bottle between us. Snow refilling a new bottle whenever we need.

\---

 “You know what I just realised, Baz? 

I give him a questioning look that equally shows my lack of interest and that he has my full attention.

“This is our last year.”

“Astute observation, Snow. I simply don’t know how you do it.”

“See what I mean?” he gestures towards me with a wave of the half-empty bottle. “My last October with an asshole of a roommate. Fuck you.”

“So what is this? A celebration then? A little soon for the confetti, wouldn’t you say, Snow? Or perhaps you’re preparing for when I inevitably end you this year.” He looks me in the eyes and tilts the bottle in my direction.

“Fuckin cheers,  _mate_ ,” and he chugs what’s left of the liquid inside. I watch attentively as a drop escapes his lips and drips down his throat, not nearly sober enough to even consider looking away.

 “So, if this isn’t a celebration of our ending time together, what is this?” He stares at the space of floor in front of him, shakes his head, and bites his lower lip.

“Agatha dumped me.” I raise my brow, eyes still concentrated on his mouth.

“Again? Well, I wouldn’t fret too much about it, Chosen One.” I smile angrily; Anger saved for the fact that Agatha can toss Snow around as she does and he’ll always take her back.

“No,” he says sternly, turning towards me. “No. I’m done. We’re-We’re done.” I look at him and fail to conceal my surprise.”I just-” he begins but cuts himself off. “We just-”

“Use your words, Snow.” His eyes cut down on me.

“We don’t work out. I-I don’t think she wants to work out. So, yeah.” He looks at me and must decide that I’m not dazed enough because he spells another bottle. “I mean, everyone wants to be loved, right? I want to be loved. I  _deserve_ to be loved, right? Agatha loves me and I love Agatha. But it’s not..right. I want to be loved with  _passion_. Like  _Romeo and Juliet_ or  _The Notebook_.”

“You watch too many rom-coms, Snow. Nobody loves like that. Nobody's  _loved_ like that.”

“Well, maybe not you, but I ‘spect that I’ll have a bit more luck, won’t I?” He laughs, then quickly stops. A tense silence fills the space as what he said seems to settle into his clouded mind. “I’m sorry, Baz. That’s--that’s not what I meant-” I cut him off, angry and morse.

“Shut up, Snow and pass the fucking bottle.”

\---

 “I thought tequila was supposed to make you happy. It’s a party drink. I want to feel party.”

“Generally, that is the mood given off after drinking tequila. I don’t know. It’s all the same chemical at the end. I think that alcohol just enhances whatever mood you want to feel. Or whatever you are feeling. I don’t know, Snow. Stop asking questions. We’re shitfaced.”

“I think this is the most we’ve ever talked in one day.” I scoff.

“I wouldn’t say  _that_ , Snow. remember the chimaera?”

“I’d rather not.” I laugh louder than I normally would allow myself. “This is the most pleasant we’ve ever spoken, anyhow,” he mumbles out.

I give a slow, thoughtful nod and purse my lips. He turns towards me and stares at the side of my face. I tell myself that I will refuse to make eye contact. Just keep looking forward. But, I’ve always been weak when it comes to Snow. I turn towards him. My plain grey eyes meet his plain blue ones and suddenly all I see from him is life. He has so much life in him. He’s all blues and yellows; freckles and moles; courage and loyalty; burning magic and a heart of gold. He’s better than me in every way and I love him for it. He’s so  _good._  It hurts me that he even has to know me.

His mouth opens slowly like he’s actually thinking about what he wants to say for once. He never thinks before he speaks. I love it.

“I like us like this,” he whispers like he’s afraid if he says it too loudly it’ll snap me out of whatever trace he’s got me in.  _Oh, Simon. It’s going to be harder than that to break this spell._

I open my mouth to say something undeniably cheesy or stupid like “I fucking hate you” or “I fucking love you” but I can’t decide which one so I close my mouth with a sigh and look at the window again.

\--- 

**SIMON**

We’ve been sitting here all night. It’s the most time we’ve ever spent in the same room sitting this close together not fighting about anything at all. I mean, there are the occasional insults thrown half-heartedly back and forth, but for the most part, it seems like we’re both just  _tired_. Tired of being enemies. Tired of fighting a war that isn’t ours.

I think I understand that now. This isn’t  _my_ war. The war, whatever it is, is everyone’s war. It isn’t even about the Old Families or the Mage or me; this is about the Humdrum and the magic community. All magic is in danger and everyone’s worried about families like the Pitches.

Admittedly, the Pitches are a concern of mine. But not right now. Right now, a Pitch is just a tired, drunk, cold boy. Our shoulders are touching enough for me to feel the cold that seems to be radiating off of him. He must feel my warmth because he seemed to instinctively press against me after our first accidental brush.

I don’t mind it much. It’s nice to know that someone is here with me, even if it is Baz. Still, after Baz shivers slightly, I jump up and latch the window closed. He’s been staring at it for ages, so it felt like he was silently asking for my permission to close it. That’s a thing now. Manners. For instance, he always waits until I’ve taken a sip of our shared drinks before taking his own. And he never asks me to conjure another, just keeps going as long as I do, I suppose. When I sit back down, I wonder if this means we can stop being enemies now. Then I wonder for a moment if he’s trying to get me drunk so he can kill me. I voice these things out loud to him.

He throws his head backing laughing, eyes squeezed shut and wrinkled in a way that’s so innocent and more childish that I’ve ever seen him that I can’t help but to grin as well. Then we’re both laughing. I duck my head between my knees trying to stop my face from turning red because we’re still laughing after 5 minutes. Every time it dies down, one of us makes a noise of struggle that starts up a whole new round. It’s the best kind of laugh; The purest amusement. Finally, when he’s settled down enough to answer (I’m still holding my breath trying to stop long enough to take a drink) he does. 

“Aleister Crowley, Snow,” he huffs. “If you want to stop being enemies, you probably shouldn’t follow with the accusation that I’m trying to murder you.”

“I will admit, it was poor delivery.” He nods, taking the bottle when I hand it to him, lips pressed in a tight line trying to hold back a smile. He’s a lot worse at hiding the fact that he has feelings while he’s drunk. It’s a nice change; One that I could get used to. I tell him this too.

“I’m completely pissed, Snow. You try being an asshole all the time. It’s exhausting.”

“Can’t be any worse than following you all the time. You’re plotting is taking up all my studying time. I should be asking you for notes to go out of my teachers.”

“‘Please excuse our dear Chosen One, Simon Snow from all of his exams. He has been terribly preoccupied from important Mage work such as stalking an innocent and well-respected student. Best regards, Innocent and Well-Respected Student, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.’”

 My laugh is embarrassingly enthusiastic, but it’s quickly matched by his so I don’t blush nearly as much as I would’ve under normal circumstances.

 “It is true though,” he says, rolling an empty bottle to my side of the room.

“What is?”

“I am plotting.” My eyes grow wide and I sit up taller.

“Wh-”

“Plotting to curse you to never taste food again. I wonder what you’ll next purpose in life would be.” He belches out a deep, evil laugh that soon turns into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. I slouch back against his side, frowning, but then grinning right along with him. I shove him playfully with my elbow.

“Sod off, I don’t eat nearly as much as you seem to think.”

“Are you kidding? Simon, 95% of the time I see you, you’re either talking to Bunce while shoving multiple sour cherry scones in your mouth or ‘secretly’ eating butter out of the dish.” I blush, but laugh and shove him again, this time pressing my leg against his as well.

“You just don’t appreciate truly good food. I’d take a dish of butter over frozen pizza any day.” He scrunches his nose in distaste.

“Frozen pizza?”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “The Orphanage. Over the summers.”

“Why doesn’t the Mage take you in? Why does he keep sending you to those fucking shitshows? They’re terrible places. You come back looking more and more dead every year.”

I shrug. “Who fucking knows. I guess he’s too busy with the war. Raiding houses and all that.”

“You  _are_ the war. What if the Humdrum comes for you at one of your care homes? Then what?”

I shrug again. “I go off, I guess.” He scoffs and furrows his brows.

“That’s fucked up.” I nod, touching a nearly empty bottle to my lips and swallowing the rest. But I don’t spell another. Not right away, anyways. Instead, I tell him about my summers. I tell him all about my old friends and how many homes I’ve been to. I tell him my favourites and my least; the good things and the bad; about when I discovered magic and how I thought it was a dream; I tell him about how I never think about Watford while I’m gone and I just have to hope that it’ll all be waiting for me when I come back.

And he listens. He watches me with shiny, grey eyes. They follow my wild hand gestures and watches for changes in the mood by the curl of my lips. He grins and frowns when I do; he laughs at all the right parts; he gets mad and sad and amused and he  _listens_. It’s more than I ever thought we were capable of.

In return, he tells me about his summers when I ask.

“There isn’t much to tell,” he drones dully. “I study and read and play my violin.” I roll my eyes.

“You must do something else. What is your favourite part? About being home.” He thinks for a moment, sucking on his fangs.  _I wonder if he’d answer if I asked him to tell me about them._

“My little sister.”

 “You have a sister?”

He nods. “Mordelia.”

“Tell me about her.” He looks at me as if I’d just said the most absurd thing possible.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he decides after a moment’s thought. “You did spill to me the great activities of Simon Snow’s Super Sweet Summer.” I roll my eyes but smile warmly.

“Get on with it then.”

“Mordelia and I do a lot of things.” And he tells me all about the things that he does with his little sister. He tells me all about how they go shopping and buy similar outfits; How they visit Starbucks and try the most obnoxious drinks; How they listen to music as loud as it can go with the windows all down in the cold of the winter; How they watch insanely terrible Christmas movies and drink sparkling grape juice until they get sick. They bake and read and do normal things. Things that make him sound so  _human_.

_He_ is  _human_ , I tell myself, then change my mind.

_No, he’s a vampire. He’s a monster._

_He’s not a monster, he’s a just a boy._

_He’s not just a boy._

_He’s Baz._

Then I stop thinking altogether.

\---

 I just watch. I watch how Baz’s eyes light up when he tells me a story that he knows I will like; one about him and Mordelia stealing a dog from the neighbourhood and harbouring him in Baz’s bedroom for a week -- and I’m suddenly captured by the way that Baz runs his hand through his hand when a strand falls in front of his face. I watch the way that he lightly bites his lip to stop himself from laughing too loudly or smiling too broadly. And I love the way the lamp on the desk shines light on just the side of his face.

I rest my chin on his shoulder, suddenly aware of my increasing close proximity and using it to gaze at Baz even more thoughtfully. He doesn’t say a word about it, just gives a quick glance my way and continues telling me about trying (and failing) to teach Mordelia to play football. (Mordelia kept wanting to fight the other kids.) (Baz said she’s better suited for boxing.)

The casting of light makes Baz look like an enchanting work of art in a museum far too important for me to even see. But that’s what makes masterpieces so important, right? Not many people  _deserve_ to see it, but that’s not the point. It’s that everybody  _needs_ to see it. So I try to memorise every detail of Baz -- every line, every habit, every speck of colour in his cool, grey eyes -- only to find out that I already have. I already know everything about Baz. I know that he’s stubborn and brilliant and horribly posh and beautiful and a prick. And I love him.

\---

  **BAZ**

He’s been quiet since I started talking about my family and what I get up to during the holidays. He stopped conjuring more drinks a while ago, not that I’m complaining: I’ve been sporting a fairly decent intoxication level for about an hour now. But still, his level of intrigue worries me more than I care to admit. I kept talking about Mordelia, telling more and more amusing anecdotes as the minutes wore on. Snow kept getting closer -- he had been all night -- but now he was so close that he had finally rested his chin on my shoulder, just staring at me, and I could feel his warm breath against my neck, moving my hair with every exhale. I give him a side glance of a look at first, but pull myself forward and continue mindlessly ranting about different times I was just as much a mess as him to make him feel better.

But then he freezes. He tenses up in such a way that I stop mid-sentence and turn to face him. He’s already staring at me, of course, like he has been nearly all night.

“Snow?” I ask shyly, worried that I might’ve said something wrong. He ignores me, but lifts a hand to the side of my face, fingers fiddling with my dishevelled hair.

I whisper “Simon--”

“Shhhh.” His eyes don’t leave mine when he spits it out. He stares at me hard and cold like he’s angry. He’s almost always angry with me, but today I can’t think of anything that I could possibly have done. (Not that I need to do anything to spark anger within him. I let him do most of the work for me.) (Dev says I’ve gotten lazy.) Maybe it’s because I crashed his drinking party and made it my own. Maybe it’s my presence alone.

I start again, quieter this time. “Sim--”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

Then he kisses me.

His lips touch mine tentatively at first, but after a while, it seems like he’s decided that I won’t bite him because he grows confident enough to press himself firmly against me. His hand comes to cup my face and I can’t form a complete thought. All that I’m able to comprehend is that he smells like fire, tastes like tequila, and is  _here_ : kissing me.

Then, I’m kissing him back.

He hums softly and I jump a little in surprise which makes him smile against my lips. I  _feel_ his smile. Merlin and Morgana.

Eventually, after a few minutes of our bodies awkwardly tilting and reaching to be close to each other, Snow finally pulls back, breaking our kiss. I stare off for a moment, dazed and disappointed before he loops his arms around my neck and pulls me forward to meet him again. I reach obediently forward to reach him, surprising even myself, and vaguely feel his legs wrap around my waist. 

Fucking hell. Simon Snow is sitting in my lap.

 We continue snogging with decreasing precision and elegance in our haste, but his legs grow tighter around me as I slide my hands under his shirt and rub up and down his back, simultaneously using my new hold on him to draw him impossibly closer to me. I moan when he opens his mouth and leads the kiss into a more intimate territory. His hands are pulling at the hair near the nape of my neck, pulling my head back to allow him to kiss me without any uncomfortable bending.

 Then, one of his arms leaves from around my neck and rests on my shoulder instead. He’s rubbing my face with the pads of his thumbs. Tracing light circles across my cheeks and stroking my hair.

“You okay, Baz?” he whispers like it’s the most casual thing in the world. I don’t know how he can be so calm. This isn’t normal. This isn’t right. Normal is screaming and fighting and cold stares. Normal isn’t his legs wrapped loosely around my waist; my hands gripping his hips; his soft fingers on my cheek; and it definitely isn’t sitting on the floor on a Thursday night snogging each other into oblivion.

 “Yes,” I say despite myself. He smiles. I just stare at him.

 “Okay, good.” He leans in closer. My eyelids flutter shut as I lean to meet him, eagerly anticipating his lips against my own.

\---

  **SIMON**

 His eyelids are fluttering. They’re actually fucking  _fluttering_. I grin and press my lips to the corner of his mouth. His chin. His bottom lip. “I’m okay, too.” And then we’re kissing again.

This doesn’t feel like kissing Agatha. As guilty as it makes me feel to admit it, kissing Agatha felt more like a chore than something that I actually wanted to do.  _This_ I want to do.

I want to run my fingers through Baz’s inky, black hair. I want to tug lightly on the strands as our lips clash. I want to taste his lips against mine, even if he’s drunk and I’m drunk and I’m not even sure what we’re really doing anymore. I don’t mind that we’re changing everything right now. How will the war go on after I’ve heard his breathless moans and seen his lustful, wide eyes staring into my own? How will we go on?

I hope we go on just like this.

I break our kiss again.

“Baz?”

“Hmm?” he hums out softly. I bite my lip and drag my eyes from his swollen lips to his pale grey eyes.

“I like us like this.” I’ve said it before, but now it feels much heavier; Now it feels like I’m asking a question. I am.

He looks at me almost sadly.

“Me too.”

\---

  **BAZ**

Snow kisses me for a while. And then I kiss him for a while. I use this time as a moment fulfil all of the things that I’ve ever wanted to do to Snow.

I kiss his lips, obviously, for quite some time, but then Snow pulls back and takes a breath for a moment and I just look at him. I look at his messy curls. A flush that starts in his cheeks spreads all the way down his neck to his chest. I watch his chest rise and fall as he catches his breath, eyes closed and hands holding my shoulders as if he needs support. He probably does considering he’s still sitting on my lap. My eyes glance over the moles covering his neck and I move forward, fighting against the pressure caused by Snow holding my shoulders back. He tenses up for a moment and flickers his eyes to me when I lean towards his neck, but with a soft kiss to a mole he gasps and lets go. I wrap one arm around his body, resting my hand on my back to hold him while I focus on the numerous moles that I need to kiss. He shivers all through each kiss, making me smile.

After I’ve kissed every mole there at least twice, I look up at him. His eyes are closed and a soft smile graces his lips.

“Tired?” I ask, but my voice isn’t mine. It’s low and husky and I think he likes it because he looks at me, sighs, and kisses me gently.

 “Yes,” he says. “But I don’t want this to go away. When I wake up, I mean.”

I say nothing. I haven’t thought about when we wake up. What happens when we wake up? Surely he won’t go back to Agatha. But he would, wouldn’t he? He’s Simon bloody Snow. The Chosen One. The Golden Boy. I can’t have him. He doesn’t belong here, in my arms, no matter how badly I want him here. No matter how right this feels. It’s all wrong. It’s all unfair.

“Baz,” he says, seemingly taking notice in my panic. “I don’t want this to go away.”

 He’s asking me a question. I know he is. He’s asking if we can go like this. If we can forget the past 7 years and the war and our supposed rivalry and just go forward with this.

“Simon-”

“Just-” he stops himself, looking at me closely as if he’s trying to remember every detail of this moment. “don’t go away?”

“I can’t. Go away.” 

“I’m not talking about being roommates, Baz.” 

“I know. Neither am I. I mean how I feel. This won’t go away.” He smiles at me, leaning down to press his face into the crook of my neck. I feel his warm breath brush my skin and I shudder. He kisses just below my ear. “Loving you is as inescapable as breathing.”

 He looks back at me and my eyes widen in a small panic. I hadn’t realised that I had said it.

“Well, we all know what happens when you hold your breath.” Simon holds my face in his hands and gives a quick, soft kiss to my nose. “Breathe, Baz.”

 ---

 He falls asleep in my arms. At some point in the night, we decided that snogging on a bed would be much more comfortable than on the floor, so we both crawled under the covers of my small bed and continued. He hovers himself over me and makes me reach for his mouth and I do. Eventually, he brings himself lower and lower, overcome with fatigue, until he gently lays himself onto my chest, drooling nearly instantly and mumbles “Basil,” softly. I smile fondly, rubbing his back and relishing in the feeling of his sleepy embrace as I fall asleep as well. 

\---

 We’re in much the same position when we wake. Simon is draped completely on top of me in such a way that I wonder how it was that I even breathed while I slept, but it feels nice. The warm weight of him on top of me reminds me of everything that happened last night, even if the mind splitting headache and general bad feeling is working hard to suppress all memories.

After a few minutes of debate, I slide myself out from underneath Simon, smoothing placing my pillow under him instead, and awkwardly move to the bathroom.

I look like shit. As soon as I step into view of the mirror, I wince. My hair, suffering from last night’s festivities, is mangled and looking more like the usual state of Snow’s than my own. Through combing my hair, I wince as the fabric from my sweater brushes against my collar.

It’s not my sweater really, it’s Simon’s. He gave it to me at some point while sleeping because he was too warm and I was too cold.

_“Look at that,” he had said. “We match._  

_“That’s not how it works, Snow. We’re opposites.”_

  _“That’s just the thing though. You have to be opposites to match as we match.” I laughed softly and kissed his forehead._

_“Go back to sleep, Love. You’re delirious.”_

I pull at the sweater to reveal 3 dark bruises adorning my pale skin and blush ever so slightly. Who would’ve thought that Simon would be the biter of us two?

And then I think of us two and I see him through the reflection of the bathroom mirror. He’s laying on my bed still in the same place that he had been all night. But then I remember something that I hadn’t before. A whisper in the darkness; A secret for only us to know:  _“I love you, Basilton.”_

And I must’ve thought it up; imagined it in my drunken state. But I start to cry because I know that I didn’t. I can still feel the breath of the words as his chest rose and fell against my own. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move. We both knew and that was enough.

But now it’s too much.

Simon Snow is laying in my bed. He’s laying in the bed of his arch nemesis.  _I’m going to kill him one day_ , I say to myself even though I know it’s not true. I’m not going to kill him, he’s going to kill  _me_. And he has to, doesn’t he? He’s our saviour. He’s the one that is going to save us all; He’s going to save me. I don’t know what happened last night, but it couldn’t have happened at all. Simon Snow needs to save us all. If he can’t, then who will?

 He can’t love me. I’m a monster and a Pitch. He belongs with Wellbelove. He  _wants_ to be with Wellbelove. Fuck, half the night he spent moaning on and on about how he isn’t quite sure where his happy ending will be now. I’ve been so fucking selfish this entire time. Simon deserves his happy ending. I know that Simon could always find it in himself to love, even if that person was a monster. I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to console myself, remembering the feeling of his soft lips against mine, his murmurs of affection and light whispers of  _“Basil”_ that will haunt my daydreams.  _This is enough_ , I tell myself.  _I’ve taken enough. I’ll remember it all so that he doesn’t have to. So that he can be happy._

So I do what Simon does. I try not to think about it.

 I try not to think about his face pressed against my pillow, hair spread out across the surface.

 I try not to think about how warm he is as I take him in my arms. I try not to think about the way that he buries his face into my chest.

 I try not to think about how his sheets are cold as I lay him down because his bed has been empty all night and mine has held two boys holding each other.

 I try not to think about the sunlight that pours in from the window onto the moles adorning his chest.

 I try not to think about how this is the last time that I’ll ever run my fingers through his hair. I don’t think about how I’m ruining everything I’ve ever wanted.

  _But this isn’t about what I want_ , I think as I walk back to my side of the room.

  _This is about what he wants._

 I lift my wand.

  _What he needs._

 A tear falls.

  **“Forgive and Forget.”**

 And it’s not me.


	2. part two teaser

_three weeks later_

**SIMON**

_Something is missing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two is coming soon! this is a super short teaser to hold you over until I get the next part out! i’m planning on having it out in less than a week


	3. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is starting to make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: hi this got rEAL fAST and now we have some warnings! if you are easily triggered by things like...
> 
> \- anxiety  
> \- anxiety attacks/panic attacks  
> \- sad/depressed talks
> 
> then you might want to skip out on this one. if you want to still read and just skip over some of these parts, then go to the endnotes and I'll sum what happened in a sentence or two.
> 
> if you want to skip out on the panic attack, then skip Simon's part starting at "I feel all the blood in my body rush to my skin" (I have it in bold print) to the beginning of the next POV (Penny's POV).
> 
> if you want to skip sad/depressed vamps, then skip Baz's POV (It's the only one)
> 
> it took forever and it's a mess, but it's here so

_three weeks later_

**SIMON**

_Something is missing_ , I think to myself as I stare off tiredly onto the front lawn. Penny would say that I’m being far too dramatic walking all the way to the moat just to get away from my own thoughts-- especially since they just followed me here anyways -- and I agree. I’ve been helplessly ridiculous for the longest time. I feel so lost in myself. I mean besides from the lack of sleep I’ve been getting lately, it’s not like anything is actually missing, no matter how empty everything feels. Every time I mention it to Penny she looks concerned and encourages me to slow down a bit.

“It’s our last year, Simon. It’s completely normal to be feeling nostalgic,” she had said the last time I mentioned it.

But I don’t feel nostalgic at all.

Penny also had an explanation for this: “You’re not feeling nostalgic because you’re not ready to accept that these are soon to be days of the past.”

I suppose Penny is right in the way that she always is: I _am_ having a sort of crisis over the ending of school.

It’s just that I’m not really sure what I’ll do when I leave, especially now that Agatha and I aren’t together anymore, which is an entirely separate mystery.

“What is wrong with me,” I groan, dropping my head into my hands to sulk.

Agatha came to me just yesterday and asked to get back together. I thought that she would —she always does— but I was still shocked.

“What?” I said after she asked, my mouth hanging open. Agatha moved her weight to her other leg and tugged on her sleeve awkwardly. “What about everything that you said? You said that was it.”

“I know what I said, Simon, but I don’t think we do very well apart.” I stared at her gobsmacked before it hit me and, suddenly, I was dead angry.

“You mean you don’t think _I_ do very well.”

“Simon, don’t make this something that it’s not. I miss you.” I shook my head and stepped back decisively.

“Agatha, I don’t feel that way about you anymore. I think we’re better off as just friends,” I had said. I’m not sure why I said it now. Not to say that I didn’t mean it —I did— but it was so fast. My answer was there, right there at the tip of my tongue before I even knew it.

_“Agatha, I don’t feel that way about you anymore. I think we’re better off as just friends.”_

It’s not like I had thought of it beforehand or anything. Normally, I would’ve. Agatha had already broken up with me twice. (At the time I had insisted to myself and anyone who asked that we were merely “taking a break.”) (Penny argued otherwise.)

(Penny was right.)

Those times, I sat in class and daydreamed about how she would come back. This time was different though. It was final —I could feel it.

I don’t know why I said it. Maybe it was because she was so sure. She said she didn’t want me to be her happy ending.

Maybe it was because I realised that I didn’t want her to be mine.

“You can’t possibly say that, Simon! Look at yourself! You’re an absolute wreck! You don’t sleep, you don’t _eat_. Just let go of your ego for a moment!”

“I mean what I say, Agatha!” I felt bad for raising my voice at her, but not enough to say so. (Penny says I’ve been short-circuited lately.)

“Well,” she huffed and threw her hands to her sides to show her obvious frustration, “what’s got you all twisted up if not our breakup?” I stopped, my tone turning sorrowful.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think you were right, is all.” I pause. “I don’t think we’re each other’s happy ending.” We looked at each other for a long moment and it almost felt like I was back to that day. It was like I was back in that dingy classroom waiting for her to change her mind, only now she was waiting for me to change mine. And I wondered what happened to get us here. _What happened?_

At first, I thought that it must’ve been Baz behind this sudden chaos, but Baz has seemed unusually defeated himself. He never taunts me anymore or insults my terrible spellwork in class. It got to the point to where I would purposefully make a mess out of a spell just to get his attention, but after a few days I grew tired and wondered what the point was anyway. If he wants to finally leave me alone, then fine. I’m too tired nowadays anyway to care much. I do, however, take note of his frequent disappearances. How he never shows up at our room anymore but to shower, which he does during dinner while I’m out if he can help it. I don’t think he’s said a single word to me since my breakup with Agatha.

I have. I’ve thrown insult after insult to try to get him to face me, but he never rises to the challenge. I wonder if he feels responsible for our breakup. He’s not. I found out that Agatha went after Baz a couple days after she broke up with me —which was a betrayal all on its own— and apparently he had rather bluntly rejected her. I wasn’t nearly as mad as I had expected, but I blame that on my exhausted state.

Instead, I find myself thinking that maybe this is it. He must be saving up for our big fight. After all, it is our last year at Watford; We all know that the war is coming. He’s probably just finalizing his plots to murder me in front of the whole school. I can’t find it in me to care. I haven’t thought him as much a threat since I’ve been so focused on finding what I’ve lost.

Now —post-breakup— my thoughts are a constant switch between wondering if I’ll get any sleep tonight and my obsessive need to find what I’m missing. Despite Penny’s insistent reminders nearly every morning that everything is perfectly in place, I still feel it: a void in my mind; gaps. I don’t necessarily _know_ that anything is missing at all. All I know is that my mind feels empty and everything I do feels empty and it can be assumed that if something feels empty then at some point it probably wasn’t. That’s how I see it anyway. But maybe my logic is flawed. (Penny says it is.)

“Simon.” My head jerks up and I look guiltily at Penny standing above me.

“Good evening, Penny,” I say nervously. She doesn’t seem amused.

“Simon, what are you doing here? You’re missing dinner.” I turn back towards the water and shrug, wiggling my toes in my shoes. They feel constricting around my feet and I desperately want to kick them off.

I do.

Penny watches me kick off my shoes, but says nothing. I follow the ripples in the water of the moat with my eyes (probably just the merewolves) until they finally carry under the bridge leaving Watford and out of my sight. I wonder darkly if they made it to the other side before fading out. “Here,” Penny says sitting down next to me. “I brought you a sandwich.”

I take the sandwich because she’s sitting here and I have to, but then I just hold it in my hands and look at the bread, urging myself not to throw up at the mere thought of eating it.

“You need to eat.”

“I know,” I murmur moving my head slightly to her so that she can hear me properly. I haven’t been able to stomach food lately. Penny and I both know what that means.

“How are you, Simon?” I don’t even have to think before I answer.

“Something’s wrong.”

“I know. You’ve been saying it for weeks now.” I nod once and decide to lift the sandwich to my mouth before I smell it and quickly set it down on the wood next to me. Penny sighs. I know she thinks I’m pathetic. I stare at my bare feet. I feel pathetic. “I’ll help you.” My head jerks to her and my eyes grow wide with hesitant hope.

I move so I’m facing her. Her face is lit aglow by the bright sunset behind me and she squints from behind her glasses to see me.

“You will? You believe me?”

“Oh, Simon. I’ll always believe you. So,” she says decisively, “what clues do we have?”

“Clues?”

“Surely you’ve been working on how to  _find_ this lost something,” she says exasperatedly. I bite my lower lip and suck in a breath. “Of course you haven’t. Well, what exactly feels wrong?” I shift uncomfortably, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“I don’t know, Pen. It just feels like I’ve lost something.” I’m so tired of saying it. I’m so tired of nothing changing, no matter how many times I repeat it to Penny.

Penny pauses for a moment to think, fingers tapping the wood beneath us with burning intensity. She shakes her head.

“You haven’t forgotten anything, Simon.” I give her a bored stare and look at my hands. I’m tired of hearing that too.

“Maybe that’s why the search spells aren’t working: I can’t even remember what it is that I lost. Maybe I should try spells to remember instead.”

I’ve been trying to search for whatever I’ve lost for about a week now. I’ve already been all around the school like a madman whispering **“Come out, come out wherever you are”** a million times (including the Wavering Wood as of yesterday which must’ve really convinced Penny to help.)(I fucking hate the Wavering Wood.)

My spells haven’t been working, which usually doesn’t mean much, but with how focused I’ve been on this as of late, I find it hard to believe that they wouldn’t work. I don’t think I’ve ever spelled so seriously before in my life.

“Maybe what I’m missing isn’t an object at all; Maybe it’s a memory!”

“Simon, messing with memory spells is risky,” Penny chastises. “You could remember too much. Mages have driven themselves mad by remembering every second of their lives when they just wanted to know where they left their car keys. With the unpredictability of your magic, it’s not worth it. Your magic is…” She’s trying to put it delicately. She’s been treating me like glass lately and I’m tired of that too. I look at back her and nod. She smiles tensely and drops the subject of my magic entirely. “I promise you, you haven’t forgotten anything. I would know.” I sigh defeated and stare back into the water.

“I guess you're right,” I say half-heartedly.

I know she’s right. We’ve learned in Magickal Words that memory spells are considered just as dangerous as things like love spells.

 _“They have the power to change our thoughts, memories, and the way that we perceive the world,”_ Miss Possibelf said to us. _“These types of spells work to rewire the brain and could change who we are as people. Spells like these are unsafe to perform because they require immense focus and precision. One stray thought could be the difference of remembering a forgotten birthday and remembering every day of your life. Huge loads of information such as this given to a Mage could take decades to sort through so that they will be able to move on and obtain new memories.”_

The spells are so dangerous to perform on actual people that we had practised on books. Books were passed to us to perform a memory spell so that erased writing from before would reappear. Of course, I never could get the spell to work. Baz was perfect, as always, and was the first student to get his book to show the old ink. Because there are so many spells having to do with memory, many of which serve the same purpose, each book’s hidden message contained the spell for our individual assignment due the next week.

Penny finally spelled mine when Miss Possibelf wasn’t looking (My teachers had been going through a sort of ban of Penny helping me and I wasn’t allowed any help.)(They changed their minds when I hadn’t performed a spell in two months.) My book read, _“_ **_Like riding a bike._ ** _”_

I never learned to ride a bike.

“Well, the only thing I can think of is your lack of sleep. Have you been having nightmares?” Penny continues.

“Not necessarily.” Disappointed, she looks at me, silently asking me to clarify. “Well,” I start. I’m getting frustrated now. And fussy. Penny always says I’m childish when I’m sleep deprived, and I know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to stop. “Before I fall asleep every night, I just-” She looks at me expectantly with dark eyebrows raised. I can barely see her eyes through the shine of the sun on her glasses. It’s gone down considerably since we’ve been out.

“What? Simon, just get on with it already.”

“I don’t know! I just feel...” I pause and squeeze my hands into fists, begging my brain to form the words I’m looking for, “like someone is there?” I look at her with my face scrunched up and shoulders in shrug position trying to relay to her that I’m well aware that that made little sense.

She scoots closer with curious eyes. She’s finally in her investigation mindset.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” Even I’m getting sick of hearing myself say that, so I know that she must be about ready to disown me.

“Simon, you might just be feeling on edge because the Humdrum hasn’t attacked in a while.”

“No, it’s not the Humdrum,” I say confidently. “It’s like a warm feeling. It’s someone _good_.” We think together for a moment in silence, letting the words fall over us. “Do you think it’s a visiting?” I ask her finally.

She shakes her head, “No, the veil closed months ago.”

I shrug again. “Maybe someone got stuck on the wrong side?”

“That’s impossible. When the veil closes, it draws the spirit back. You couldn’t be left behind even if you tried.”

I lean my head back to look up at the stars appearing in the sky and wonder if I could be anywhere, where would I be. I close my eyes and sigh. I’d be _there_ : floating with the stars. It’s where I go every night; it’s why I crave the pull of sleep so desperately. Sleep is where everything feels okay and I’m soaring through the stars. It’s the feeling that’s been haunting my thoughts ever since everything turned wrong; I think about it every day and wait for it every night. It’s almost like I’ve stored away all of my happy memories in a dream, and that’s where I go when I sleep: A world where I can feel the rise and fall below me of a chest that isn’t mine. Where I feel the ghost of a hand stroking my back.

 _It’s weird and it’s creepy_ , I think, applying minimal effort to get myself to stop wishing for it so hard. Maybe it's the wishing that keeps me from it. Sleep hasn’t been coming easy lately, which is odd, to say the least. I’ve never really been one to toss and turn around in my bed.

After growing up sharing a room with at least 3 other kids, you get used to the things that generally would keep you up. Baz, on the other hand, is the opposite. He used to spend hours trying to sleep during our first years at Watford. It got so bad that one time I yelled at him to get out and he did without retaliation. He’s not so bad about it now, but it still takes some moving around for him to get comfortable. My head hits the pillow and I’m gone. (Baz says I snore. I don’t believe him.) (He also says I drool.) (I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to admit it.)

Now, however, I feel his frustration. I’ve never really understood how someone could be so tired and still not be able to sleep, and I teased Baz for it when we were younger. I feel kind of bad now. It’s a difficult thing to go through. I would know.

I also feel bad for Penny who has had to deal with my snappy attitude for weeks.

\---

I look thoughtfully at the window just past Penny. “Let’s try the last one again.”

Penny moans and Agatha drops her head onto the table.

“I’ve told you a hundred times already!” Penny shouts. “ **Jog your memory** only works when the caster knows the memory they are trying to revive.”

“Well then let’s try a new one.”

“Simon, we’ve been through loads already. Can’t we just move past this? I’m sure you’ll feel better after the holidays,” Agatha begs.

“We’ve been at this all morning, Si,” Penny adds. I throw a mean glance her way and instantly feel bad when I see her face drop and her ring hand rise. “One more, then,” she says sadly.

“I’m leaving.” Agatha picks up her bag from where it’s fallen on the floor and stomps out of the Great Hall.

We both watch her leave until she's past the doorway and then Penny rolls her eyes and continues her work, casting **Get well soon** , **Fit as a fiddle** , and **Like riding a bike** again before sliding her ring off once more. “I’m burning out over here.” I sigh while nodding.

“I know. It’s time to stop.”

“Wait,” she says and rolls up her sleeve, “I have one more spell for you.”

“I thought we’d tried them all already.”

“We have. This one isn’t a memory or health spell.”

“What does it do, then?”

“ **Get a second wind** .” And I don’t have to ask what it does, it’s obvious. My shoulders immediately straighten out and my lungs expand for a deep, clean breath. I grin and look at my arms in disbelief. _Do I look brighter?_ I feel brighter. I feel like the fucking sun.

“Thanks, Penny!” I shout before shoving two more scones into my mouth.

“One at a time, Simon! You’re spilling all over the place!” Penny says, but I know she’s happy too. It’s been a while since I felt so energetic. I know that the spell will wear off, but when it does Penny can just cast it again. Or I could. If I cast it properly I could be awake for weeks. My thoughts quickly jump to Baz and what he gets up to at night. He hasn’t been in the room for sleep for a long time. Sometimes he skips class — which is suspicious all on its own — and I wonder if he ever goes to the room to catch up on his sleep. I wonder what would happen if I followed him back to our room. He’s been looking absolutely dreadful lately.

”Hey, Pen,” I start — preparing to ask about Baz and begin my investigation with theories from both of us — but then I stop.

_Calm down, Simon. You just got some much needed energy and now you’re about to waste it all on Baz?_

When I look up, Penny is looking at me, her half-buttered bagel raised half-way to her mouth waiting for me to finish. I shake my head.

“Nevermind.”

 _Baz isn’t worth it,_ I decide.

\---

**BAZ**

I don’t think it to be very fair that my short time alive has, so far, been followed by a never-ending acheful death. What’s even crueller to think about is the fact that this ache won’t even allow me to sit and suffer in peace. He’s constantly there. Just his very state of being is enough to drive me up the wall, then back down it. Quite literally, I think as I slide my back down the cold, dusty wall of the catacombs and drop my head between my knees.

He’s been searching. He won’t fucking stop searching. I see him everywhere. He doesn’t see me. Lately, all he seems to focus on is his hunt for the truth. I’m not sure that he knows that he’s even missing a memory, but he’s damn frantic about it. He’s starting to scare the other students. I’ve heard whispers that he’s on another stupid mission from the Mage to fight the Humdrum. Maybe he is. Maybe I’m just paranoid.

If only he knew that he didn’t want what he is searching for; what I took. He wouldn’t look anymore.

I feel myself start to drift off to sleep and I jerk my head back up, eyes wide and scanning through the darkness around me. Ever since the first few days after, I had been keeping myself from falling asleep. As painful it is to deny my body and mind sleep every day and night, I can’t even begin to fathom the unimaginable torturous bliss that is my dreams at night. While conscious, I am mostly able to block out those thoughts that I can’t bring myself to revisit, but sleeping is an entirely different story.

It’s no surprise really. Simon Snow has always claimed by every stray thought, but now the stakes are higher. Now instead of merely imagining kissing Snow, I _remember_ it. It plagues me with guilt and self-pity.

It’s the worst part of the After: Living with myself; Knowing what I know and still walking past Snow devouring breakfast in the Great Hall. Staring at the back of his bronze curls in class, urging myself not to. I can’t let myself stray too far because I know that I’ll never be able to find my way back. Memories of that night pull at me constantly with no end and I know that I can never let them win. There’s no turning back after something like that. I can’t let myself remember anything else. I can’t go back.

I thought about using the spell on myself a few times.

I almost did.

I had accidentally drifted asleep on my desk in our room after my Political Science class. I had fallen into the familiar dream: dimmed lights, swollen lips, breathless whispers.

 _It’s all too much,_ I keep thinking to myself, but I always change my mind.

_It’s not enough._

I think it because I’m a selfish bastard that has to live with the fact that I had everything I wanted for just one night and I gave it up. Sometimes I find myself wishing that it had never happened and I wonder if that’s true.

I know that Before I was still dreadfully in love with Snow, but I was prepared that it would never happen. Now there are things left in the air; There is a sort of lingering hope that I try to suffocate with each thought that I know to be fact:

_Simon Snow is the Chosen One. Simon Snow is the Mage’s Heir. Simon Snow hates me and the House of Pitch. Simon Snow is going to kill me. He’ll do what’s right. He always does what’s right._

I woke up from the dream sweaty and crying, and leapt up from the desk, pressing my back against the wall to stare at my bed across me. I haven’t touched it since. I can’t touch it since. I suddenly felt nauseous and dizzy —I always do after the dream— and rushed into the bathroom, fumbling with the lock on the door behind me. (I always have the sneaking feeling now that Snow could confront me at any moment.)(It both terrifies and thrills me.)

_I could take everything. I could forget that I love him._

But I didn’t. I didn’t because I’m weak and a fool and I’m hopelessly in love with someone who is going to kill me. And I know that if I forget that I love Simon Snow that I’ll just fall in love all over again and going through that process again would surely kill me. I didn’t because I want to die knowing that I lived for something. For him.

But everything is worse now. It’s _much_ worse. It’s the most miserable type of pain that I can imagine.

I feel gone. I’ve lived as a shell of a person for the majority of my life, but that night I wasn’t. I was so much more. _We_ were more. At least I thought we were until I woke up with the hellish realisation that he’s not more this way; he’s infinitely less. To be the Chosen One with his everlasting magic and golden status, tainted by my very existence and momentarily tarnished by whatever fleeting touch I might’ve had.

He’s beautiful, inside and out.

They say that “love is blind” but it’s not. Infatuation is blind. Love —true love— is anything but. I see everything that Simon does; Everything that he is. I see his concerning lack of manners, his stubbornness, his sheer obliviousness, and I love him.

Not to say that I believe in true love — I don’t. True love is just the hopeless desire for someone to love you as much as you love them. To love infinitely; To be loved infinitely. I try not to believe in true love. I try not to believe in love at all. What has love ever done for me?

I know that my outlook on life --and love in particular-- is hopelessly bleak, but that’s the safest way to keep it. Expect too much and you could get burned. I’m stuck in a continuous loop in which I’m constantly stepping too close. I’m always on the edge of giving into hope: Close enough to feel the raging warmth scorch my skin, but not near enough to be decorated by it’s flames.

I try to step away. I try to protect myself from thinking about Simon, but it rarely works. I’m an addict and he’s always there: the first thing my mind reaches for. He’s always the first thing. But once the first thought breaks through, the rest follow, overwhelmingly pouring through widening the cracks until my mind is just one space full of Simon.

My body feels so heavy with the weight of my overwhelming guilt and sadness pulling at me, but I wonder how that can be when I’m so empty inside. So hollow.

But nothing has really made any sense as of late. Everything is so in the moment. I never know how to feel or what even to do when I do feel.

Sometimes I feel everything. I feel it all until I’m sitting on all fours watching the puddles of tears form beneath me, half of me yelling at myself to stop and the other half screaming to be let out. I’m weak in every sense of the word, but I think it’s okay just for now as long as nobody else sees. When I feel, I feel it all rushing through me until it tears me apart from the inside out. But other times I’m just nothing.

I tried not to give in. I tried to stay strong, but I’m weak. I’ve always been weak. Now I’m just a little too weak to care.

I try not to believe in love. Every _second_ I try.

Loving is a painful ache that spreads through my whole body. Every inch is infected by the plague that is loving Simon and the symptoms are unbelievably cruel. The universe is twisting around me and locking me in a choke hold in which I am forced to face the reality of my love; It will never be returned. This love is a one-way ticket to self-hatred, isolation, and endless demotivation. There is no joy is this suffering.

Grief is a greedy friend.

You cry and it wants to take your sorrow. You let it.

You dream and scream and thrash, haunted by the past and poisoned by your ebbing energy. It comes from the shadows and offers to soothe your mind. You cry in relief and nod your head, so it takes your thoughts.

And all that’s left is you and your shattered heart so you look down at it and try to feel the weak, sad beats that echo around your chest. It promises to take care of the burden on your heavy heart. You agree with empty eyes, ready to feel the weight of it gone so that you can learn to move on. So it takes that too.

Except now there isn’t anything left of you. So instead of being, you just _are_. And you’re never quite sure if it’s for better or for worse, but at least the pain is gone, right?

Everything is gone.

—

**AGATHA**

I’ve never understood Penelope. Whenever I’m dating Simon, she gives me looks of disappointment and encourages me to tell him how I really feel, but when I finally do, she asks me when I’m going to get back with him already.

“I’ve told you already,” I said to her. “This is it. I told him how I feel.”

“This can’t be _the end_ though.”

“Why not?”

“Because it never is. And Simon needs us now more than ever.”

“Simon has us. I’m still here, you know. We’re friends.”

“You know what I mean, Agatha. He needs us to be _us_. He needs _stability_. He’s driving himself mad with all of this talk about losing something.”

“Has he?” I asked. “Lost something?” Penny pulled her books tighter to her chest and pressed her lips together in a thin line.

“I’m not sure.”

It is true that Simon hasn’t been himself lately. At first Penny and I both thought that he was just missing me. I have been hanging around them, but not like I used to. I don’t sit next to him anymore. I don’t race to his aid with all of his problems like Penny obviously still does. Yeah, Simon has frantically mentioned this lost something a few times that I’ve heard, but he hasn’t asked me to help at all like he normally would if this were one of our usual mysteries.

I may not be his girlfriend anymore, but I still worry. I still care about him. That’s why I offered to get. That and the fact that Penelope had been not-so-subtly hinting at me to get on with it already and ease his mind.

She tries not to show how worried Simon makes her when he gets himself involved in something so seemingly dangerous, but I see through it. It _is_ definitely concerning that Simon feels so confused and lost. (He’s stopped eating like he normally does, which is really saying something.) I know that Penny’s worried that it’s the Humdrum. Simon probably thinks it’s Baz. I don’t know what I think.

I think I believe him. I think that he’s lost something. Something important.

I was confused when he rejected me, I won’t lie. I’ve never been rejected. At first, I had felt sad, but now I mostly feel proud of sorts. I feel like I’ve broken out of this forceful cycle that has taken control of my life. I don’t feel like the prize anymore. Prizes don’t get turned down, right?

But, now that Simon has shut down the idea of us getting back together, Penny is even more concerned.

“I really don’t know, Agatha,” she says, rubbing her temples vigorously. “What could he be missing? The only thing that’s different is you. You’re the only thing different!” I swat at her hands.

“Stop that, people are starting to stare.” She groans and rests her head in her hands.

“Now he’s convinced that he’s lost a memory. He’s talking about _spells_ , Agatha. It’s too dangerous! He’s going to get himself into trouble and I can’t get him out of a botched memory spell.”

“Calm down,” I whisper. Other students around Watford have been looking at us a bit more than usual. This is about the time that the Mage normally gives Simon a task to complete or we have a mystery to solve, so Simon losing his mind now really isn’t in our favour. The other students are wary of us and I hate it. Can’t I just be one of them? Why am I always dragged into this?

“Talk to him again. _Please_ , Agatha. He talks to you, right?” I scoff.

“Not more than to you.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re his _girlfriend_. He must tell you stuff that he doesn’t tell me.”

I think about it for a moment. _Does he tell me stuff he doesn’t tell Penny? Or Ebb?_ I can see where Penny is coming from: it _does_ make sense that he would confide in me. I mean, we were in a fairly long relationship. But, I don’t think he has. Simon has pretty much always been an open book. He tells us everything.

“No, he hasn’t. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever. Just... _persuade_ him, won’t you?” I stop walking and gape at her.

“You want me to _seduce_ Simon!” She looks at me blankly.

“If that’s how you want to do it, then sure.”

“Simon has never really been the romantic type. I can assure you that trying to seduce answers out of him _won’t_ work,” I say laughing.

“Surely you guys have been romantic with each other?”

“If you mean that we’ve had sex, then no.”

“ _Never?_ ” I shake my head.

“Nope.” I start walking again and Penny stands dazed for a moment before catching up. “We haven’t really had much time to….develop our relationship, I guess. We’ve always been on some dangerous mission.”

“Well, maybe you can use that. Maybe he’s sexually frustrated.” I roll my eyes at her.

“We’re not together anymore. I’m not making a fool of myself to seduce him. I don’t _want_ to seduce him.”

“You mean you’re not attracted to him?” I consider that for a moment.

“I mean, he’s definitely attractive, but no. I suppose I’m not.” Penny looks at the walkway.

“Huh.”

I had already made a fool of myself trying to seduce Basilton earlier. I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t interested in Baz—I was, but that’s not really why I broke up with Simon.

Propelled by my own inner defiance and my new freedom, I had embarrassingly approached Baz after our breakup.

When I walked up to him and said, “Basilton,” he stopped immediately and looked at me in such a way that I was already certain that he knew what I was doing and he wasn’t for it. He didn’t say anything though, just looked down at me as we stood in the middle of the busy hall.  “Basilton,” I said again, slightly thrown off from his silence. (I had thought that he would’ve said “Wellbelove” in that cool and enchanting tone that always riles Simon up.)

He raised an eyebrow up slightly so that I know that he heard me. My eyebrows furrowed slightly before I straightened them out and put on a smile. “How are you?” I asked awkwardly.

He rolled his eyes and sighed, which pissed me off just a bit, and began walking again. I followed.

“Don’t you have someplace to be, Wellbelove? Mysteries to solve? The slaughter of dragons to witness?”

 _Oh, please_ , I had thought to myself. _He’s in a_ mood. _What is going on lately?_

I lifted my chin and attempted not to let my smile falter.

“Actually, Simon and I split up.” I had tried to make it sound casual, but instead, it just sounded forced—like I was bursting to tell him. I was, but I thought he’d make it easier for me.

“Pity,” he said emotionlessly. “Well, you should probably go straighten that out then, yeah?” I looked at him, confused, before he slipped into a doorway that I wasn’t even aware existed, muttering an “Excuse me,” as he left my side.

I found him again the next day. He was walking with Dev and Niall across the yard before dinner and I quickly left the group of girls from my class to catch him. He noticed me behind him before I even had the chance to say his name.

“Agatha,” he said firmly, turning around to face me. Dev and Niall looked at each other awkwardly before Baz dismissed them and they kept walking, just a bit slower than before. “I’m not interested.”

“What?” I asked because my mind hadn’t quite caught up yet.

“I’m not interested in you. At all. I never was. I’ve been using you to piss off Snow, so stop wasting your time throwing yourself onto me and go chase someone else’s heels.”

“Excuse me?” I was pissed. “I am not _throwing myself_ at you.”

“Fuck off, Wellbelove. I’m not amused by these childish games anymore. Go back to your pedestal next to your Chosen One.”

I looked at him for a moment, trying desperately to think of something clever to throw at him, but I couldn’t quick enough and I could feel the tears pooling up in my eyes so I turned around and stomped away.

I went to Simon and told him what had happened, not because I wanted to get back together, but because I felt mortified and sad and guilty and I needed my best friend. He wasn’t angry at all, which was surprising to me, but I guess Simon has been sort of empty since our breakup (which also makes me feel guilty). He listened while I told the story and held me while I cried.

I almost asked him to be my boyfriend again because he was so wonderful, but I didn’t want to be who Baz and everyone else saw: the girl sitting on the pedestal next to the Chosen One. I’ve never wanted to be that girl. Who does?

Simon made me feel somewhat better: he said things like “Fuck him, he’s a wreck like the rest of us, he just hides it better” and “He never meant to hurt you, it was for me” and he kept apologizing. Sure, the apology wasn’t from Baz himself, but it still meant something to me.

“Just be careful, Simon,” I warned while he walked me to my room for the night. He tilted his head a bit.

“What do you mean?”

“Baz,” I said like it was the most obvious thing in the world because it was. It’s always been Baz, hasn’t it? “He’s been _odd_ recently and I think that he’s getting serious, Si.” He looks down and considers this for a moment, shaking his head.

“I don’t know, Aggie.”

“Well, I do. He hasn’t been himself. He’s been skipping meals and classes and nobody ever knows where he is half the time. Penny is top of the class now, Simon! Baz must be sneaking away from Watford and meeting with the Old Families. It’s almost time. Everything's coming together. Surely you must’ve noticed?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” he shrugs. I roll my eyes.

“Simon, you need to pay attention to these things. Baz is dangerous, now more than ever.” He stays silent. “Look,” I say and turn to him, taking his hands in mine. His are limp and he stares at them between up before looking back at me. “I know things are less…put together now that we’re separated. Penny says you’ve been running around wild about something missing. I promise, Simon, we’re still friends. You won’t lose me.”

He shakes his head sadly.

“Thanks, Agatha,” he says, forcing a small smile, “but you’re not who I’m looking for.” He kisses my cheek before walking away, taking his hands from mine and shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. I watch him walk away.

Who is he looking for?

—

**SIMON**

“Mr Snow!”

I quickly sit up from my desk and swat at the various papers that stuck to my face. Great. I’ve drooled all over my essay. My face burns red as my ears fill with the laughter of the other students in my class.

“Sorry,” I mutter, quickly flipping through my textbook to the page written on the board.

I’m absolutely mortified.

It’s not like I’ve never fallen asleep in class before, but this time everyone else is making me feel so terrible about it. They all keep staring and whispering to each other with their demeaning giggles. I frown and slouch further in my seat, trying to at least pretend to pay attention to the lesson so that they might stop. I feel my magic swirling around me and filling the room, a very unfortunate side effect of my embarrassment. It just makes matters worse. A few students cough, and then they laugh harder.

I spend the rest of class daydreaming about dropping out of Watford entirely and moving to the countryside where I can live my life falling asleep all I want.

When class is over, I drag myself up from my desk, quickly grabbing my books and trying to keep my blushing face from the view of other students who are _still_ laughing it up. I try to slip out before anyone can talk to me, but Gareth grabs my sleeve and gives it a friendly tug.

“Hello, Simon,” he says with a grin. I inwardly groan, but outwardly give a small smile and a slight nod to the door.

“Hey, Gareth. Just on my way out.” It’s a stupid thing to say: class just ended. We’re _all_ on our way out, and in a rush too. Students push each other to get out of the doors and into the halls where they can find their friends and get going to dinner.

“I’ll walk with you,” Gareth says and hurriedly goes to grab his worn bag from under his desk. I nod politely and shove my hands into my pockets and move back and forth on my feet waiting for him. I hope he isn’t up for much chatting because I can’t promise that I’ll be completely civilised. I’m too tense already from my mystery solving and lack of sleep, and now my mood has turned downright sour after the embarrassment of class.

I swear if he asks me if I’m okay I might scream. I’ve gotten that a lot lately. At first, I would answer with a small smile and nod, but as time has carried on, I’ve grown more honest, which is rather unfortunate because it makes it so much worse. I’ll get disappointed frowns, inspiring speeches, or even awkward hugs before they finally leave me to my madness again.

I’m just hoping we can take this walk in silence. I’m standing by the door waiting for Gareth, which is the worst place to be stopped because every student giggles as they walk past me. By the time Gareth makes it back to me, nearly the entire class is gone and I’m pissed.

“What the fuck is their problem? I just fell asleep. Kids do it all the time.” I whisper to myself as Gareth and I walk out of the door. I hadn’t expected Gareth to answer, but he laughed and did anyway. Fantastic. I just opened up the door for conversation and destroyed all wishes of a peaceful walk together. Maybe once he realises how pissy I am, he’ll never talk to me again.

“Well, you talk in your sleep, Simon.” My eyes get wide. I certainly do _not_. Years and years in different homes has educated me exactly how I sleep. I know from my many roommates that I sleepwalk when I’m in a new place, I drool (so many pictures have been taken to torture me), I sleep sprawled out like a starfish, but I never talk. Baz would murder me if I talked in my sleep. He’d never stop complaining about it.

“I do _not_!” Gareth laughs and accidentally knocks into a large column and drops his bag.

 _I’m being judged by_ Gareth _of all people,_ I think as I watch him almost apologise to the column for hitting it. _Merlin._

“I’m very positive that you do, actually.” He sounds so smug, the fucker. “You were uh talking about _Baz_ of all people.” I groan. _That_ is more believable. Fuck Baz. Won’t even leave me alone while I’m sleeping. Not that I’ve had many problems with him lately--it’s almost as if he’s left Watford entirely. Nobody ever sees him.

“Fucking Baz,” I mutter, kicking a rock down the walkway.

“Yeah.” We keep walking together in silence and it’s a little awkward because he doesn’t normally walk with me. I look away from him and instead towards the walls and floors of the school in an attempt to avoid awkward eye contact and any further conversation, but it seems like he still has things to talk about because he nudges my shoulder with his own and clears his throat.

“I uh,” he coughs and readjusts his bag, “I didn’t know you two were uh together.”

I snap my head to him.

“ _What?_ ” I ask in a low voice. _What the hell is he talking about?_ “Agatha and I split up, actually.”

He looks back at me with wide, concerned eyes.

“Oh, no I would never insinuate that you would _cheat_. I only meant that I didn’t know you and Baz were….friends, even. Much less…” he laughs a bit to himself, then looks back at me. I’m staring at him like he’s mad. He _is_ mad. I have no idea what the hell he’s going on about. “I mean, don’t be embarrassed, Simon, really. I mean, it isn’t _that_ hard to believe if you think about it. You two have always been obsessed with each other.” I stop walking.

 _He’s talking about_ Baz. _He thinks I’m in a….relationship with_ Baz. Baz  _of all people._

Gareth notices that I’ve fallen behind and stops himself to turn around. He pats his hand on my shoulder awkwardly and smiles tightly.

“Don’t worry, Simon. Watford is really progressive. And I’m sure that the uh Mage and Pitches will be—” he cuts himself off, looks down and nods. “Yeah. Just trust me.”

He leaves me standing gobsmacked in the hall with my mouth hanging open and I don’t know what to think, but then he turns and walks backwards a bit so he can face me again. (He’s adjusting that fucking bag again, I swear. Just get a new bag!) But he grins cheekily and shouts, “Oi, and good for you, Simon! He’s a fine looking bloke, even I’ll admit that!”

**I feel all the blood in my body rush to my skin.**

_What the fuck just happened. What did I say? I didn’t say anything! I don’t talk in my sleep!_ I continue standing, dumbfounded, as all the students walk around me, bumping into my shoulders and whispering.

Suddenly I remember the looks in class and all the whispers and I feel like they’re whispering about me. Me and _Baz_ of all people. Fucking Merlin, what is _wrong_ with these people. Gareth must have misunderstood. They all must have misunderstood. I was dreaming of Baz plotting like I always do.

But now I can’t remember. What _was_ I dreaming? I can’t think of it now. I can’t remember it at all. I can’t remember.

_Where is Baz? Doesn’t he have a class?_

I think for a moment that he doesn’t have any classes with me, but I’m sure that he does. I’m _sure_ that he does. I remember sitting next to him, right? He was right there. Wasn’t he? _Where is he?_

I begin to look frantically out into the sea of Watford students piling in and out of the hallway to make it to dinner on time and I’m panicking.

I start to sweat. I feel my magic all around me. I’m going to go off. I don’t want to go-off. I _really_ don’t want to go-off. I try to calm down and retrace what I know, but I get lost in the things I don’t. I always get lost.

“Baz?” I call out. “Baz?” I say it again and again, each time more demanding. “Baz!”

Is he here? I can’t remember. I can’t remember what he looks like. _He’s my bloody roommate for Merlin’s sake. I know what he looks like_ , I try to think logically, but all logic is tossed into the shadows because _I can’t remember_.

I’m shaking and the loud pounding of my heartbeat in my chest is the only thing that I hear. The world is drowned out by it’s violent, thumping and ringing. I can’t focus on anything, the world around me is spinning and it feels so big. It’s so big and I’m so small and I’m just so lost in it.

I feel like I’m choking so I start tugging at my tie and buttoned shirt to get some air. I just need some fucking air, but all the air around me is thick and hot with my magic and I’m going to go off. This is the part where I go off, I know it is. Going off isn’t something that is fun in the slightest. Each time that it happens it feels as if the magic inside me has blown me up and scattered the pieces. Each time I have to find them all and put me back together.

I really don’t want to go off, but worrying about it is making it _so_ much worse, so I try practising what Penny and I have in the past. After the last time that I went off, Penny pulled me aside for days to work on self control.

 _“What you need to do is evaluate the situation and understand that you have the freedom to choose where it goes. You have the power to decide,”_ Penelope had said.

But I don’t feel like I have a choice. If I had a fucking choice then I’d be in my room yelling at Baz to get out of the shower. I’d be sitting and dinner exchanging violent glances from across the room. I’d be doing _anything_ but this. Anything but having a proper breakdown in the middle of the hallway. All my worry and lack of stability in literally every aspect of my life really isn’t helping me evaluate the fucking situation.

I start walking around the hall, pushing people aside and yelling his name. “Baz? Where’s Baz?” I ask the kids around me. “Do you know where Baz is?” And nobody does. Everyone just keeps looking at me all confused like I’ve lost my fucking mind. I have. “I’m looking for Baz!”

Nobody knows. _Nobody._ It fills me with an undeniable, overwhelming sense of dread.

“What the fuck,” I whisper, raking my hands through my hair. I’m running out into the very middle of the courtyard so I can see him if he walks to dinner, but my shoes against the concrete is so loud and my ears are ringing and everything feels tingly. I don’t know what’s happening. “I need to find Baz,” I tell a first year who literally couldn’t care less, but I do it anyway because I need someone to know where he is so I can know where he is.

I don’t understand why nobody knows where he is. Doesn’t anybody pay attention? But they’re looking at me worried and whispering about how I’m crazy. I know they’re whispering, but I’m not crazy. I’m not.

I’m just confused. And I’m losing my wits. And time is running out. I just want what I lost. I don’t want to feel this way anymore.

“I just want Baz,” I cry out weakly before I collapse right there in the middle of the courtyard.

—

**PENNY**

Agatha hasn’t been hanging around much anymore since she and Simon began having problems around the beginning of the year. Normally, I wouldn’t mind much — I have to focus on my studies anyway — but with Simon out on his own most of the time and Baz fucking around, staying the top of our class is far too easy and I’m constantly bored. So while I enjoy the time that she does spend with me lately, she’s been rather odd company.

“I’m just saying, he’s up to something.”

“You’re starting to sound like Simon.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear almost shyly. Perhaps she realises just how mad her theories are.

I suppose they aren’t though, not really. While Simon has been dead wrong about Baz and his evil plots of the past, maybe this time something is going on. Whenever Agatha brings it up in conversation, I can’t help but let my mind search through the evidence given by the past month or so that points to something with Baz, even while shaking my head and dismissing it.

It can’t be denied that Baz has been acting aloof recently. He began skipping class, something that he’s _never_ done before. I’m almost angry at him for leaving me like that. I feel betrayed. School isn’t nearly as fun without the thrill of competition. I don’t even raise my hand anymore. What’s the point if there is no one else to call on? They _have_ to pick me. He better pull himself together soon, because I’m losing interest in my classes far faster than I’m comfortable with.

Simon, on the other hand, has gone entirely mad. I love him to death, but I’ve almost lost hope for him. All he does is sit and worry and panic. It’s not like he’s ever been very talented in his studies, but now that he loses his focus so quickly, he’s even further behind.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe Simon is right. Maybe he’s always been right.” She must see the bored look on my face because she pulls my arm and continues. “I mean, look at him, Penny! He’s a mess!”

“Exactly. Look at him! Simon has fallen apart in every way imaginable. I wouldn’t be taking anything too seriously from a gone man.” I huff out of frustration and exhaustion whilst muttering out curses to my bag of books. “Agatha,” I sigh, exasperatedly, “everyone around here has lost their wits. That's a fact. What I need from you more than anything else right now is to _please_ maintain sanity. Merlin knows we need it if we’re gonna knock some back into Simon over the break.”

“Is he staying at yours?”

“Simon?”

“Yeah. I figured he wouldn't stay at mine because we broke up. It’d be kind of awkward, right?”

I’m about to turn to her and sternly explain that he should stay with her —what Simon needs is normality and routine — but just as I turn to her a student practically tackles Agatha and me.

“Penelope Bunce! Agatha Wellbelove!” he shouts between pants of breath. I recognise him quickly as the third year who has been obsessed with Simon since starting at Watford. He came to Simon on his very first day and fainted after Simon said hi.

“Theodore,” I say aggravatedly.

“What is it, Theo?” Agatha asks, offering her support to him with the soft touch of her hand on his shoulder. He looks so panicked, I think he might melt on the spot.

“It’s Simon! I thought I might come and find you so you could help. I searched all over! You weren’t at dinner yet! I checked the library too, but—”

“What’s wrong with Simon?” I ask impatiently, readying my bag on my shoulders to start running. A million thoughts run through my head: memories of dragons and evil creatures sent from the Humdrum to attack Simon.

Theo nods and sucks in a deep breath again.

“He was a raging mess just a few minutes ago, but now he’s just laying in the courtyard.”

“Simon? Snow? Laying in the courtyard?” Theo nods with wide eyes and points down the hallway to the courtyard. Agatha and I look at each other, but just for one concerned moment before sprinting down the corridor.

Agatha quickly shouts a “Thank you” to Theo, but I just keep running. The only thing in my mind is that Simon is dead and I’m trying to drown it out with chanting “He’s not dead” over and over in my mind, hoping to shield myself from the past images of Simon covered in blood. _But still breathing,_ I tell myself. _He’s always still breathing._ I push myself to run faster.

When we get to the courtyard, it’s empty except for a single body lying in the grass. Agatha screams when she sees him, but covers her mouth when I scold at her to shut up. I need to focus.

I drop my bag — I’m angry at myself that I just now thought to do it; the weight of those books on my back had been hell on the run over — and rush to his side, throwing myself into the dirt to aid him in any way I can. (How many loads of laundry I’ve had to do solely because I’m friends with Simon Snow is completely ridiculous.)

My worries of him being dead are quietly calmed when I see that he is shaking and I hear the soft whimers, but then I’m concerned by these things instead.

“Simon,” I say, trying to sound calm and collected. My mother always says that in situations that you can’t control, at least keep up the illusion because then you’ll control your crowd and that’s the most powerful thing you can do. I will admit that it has worked in the past before with Simon, but I doubt he even notices that I’m here with him, much less how in-control I sound. “Simon, what’s wrong?”

I didn’t want to touch him incase he was cursed, but Agatha is practically groping him trying to find where his wounds are, so I lift his face with my hand and cup his face. He’s crying something _awful_ and I look over at Agatha, horrified. She’s crying and muttering to me, Simon, or herself — I can’t tell — “There’s no blood. I can’t find any blood. No blood.”

I try to wipe his tears away, but they come so fast that it doesn’t do any good so I let go and point my ring at him instead.

“ **Get well soon!** ” I shout, trying to muster as much magic as I can. Simon cries louder, but the spell does nothing otherwise. Agatha moves to sit by his head and gently strokes his hair. I try it 3 more times, just so be sure. It does nothing. I look Simon up and down repeatedly, trying to think of anything and everything that we’ve done together in the past that was remotely similar to this.

“I don’t know what to do, Simon,” I whisper, voice cracking and broken. Agatha doesn’t look at me, and I’m not sure that she heard. I hope she didn’t.

“Simon, where does it hurt,” she says soothingly, but she can’t fool me with the tears silently streaming down her face.

This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I feel so _powerless_. I don’t know what to do.

But then he responds.

“Everywhere,” he hisses out through a sob. “It hurts... _everywhere_.”

“There’s no blood, Simon,” she says and he just shakes his head, still crying. Agatha leans over to cover his body with her own. At first, I think she’s protecting him from something and I look around us quickly, but then I realise that she’s hugging him.

“Simon?” she asks. I feel like an outsider; an observer of this scene. I’m here, sitting on my knees in the dirt and mud of the courtyard next to a sweaty, crying boy, but I’m not where he is. I think Agatha is getting there.

He’s crying and clutching Agatha and he just whispers, “I can’t remember.”

Agatha frowns, another tear running down her cheek. She doesn’t move to wipe it. Neither do I. I just watch.

“What can’t you remember, Simon?”

He shakes his head and lets out a sob that makes me flinch. Agatha doesn’t though. I‘ve never seen her quite like this. I suppose that the time hasn’t ever come fo her to witness the finale of any of our dangerous missions. By the time of the final fight, she has usually opted to take a step back. It’s odd to be in her place and to see her in mine. _Is this what she feels? Everytime we leave? Does she feel so utterly helpless?_ I can’t imagine spending another moment feeling this way, but I do. I sit here for another second, then another, and another, because I find that we are always able to do those things that we can’t imagine ourselves doing.

“I can’t remember.” My hands are still hovering above them both from my spellwork and my frantic scanning of my brain for any spells but I couldn’t think of any. It’s never happened before.

I stopped scanning a while ago.

Agatha is still running her fingers through Simon’s dirty, sweaty hair. It’s very motherly of her. _Does she want children?_

“What do you remember? The last thing.” Simon sniffles and opens his eyes. I freeze as if I’ve been caught being unhelpful; I freeze as if he’ll see me and send me away because what’s my purpose here anyway? If I’m not going to help then why am I even here? He isn’t a show. I should leave.

He doesn’t look at me. I stay.

He squints his eyes at the darkening sky above us all. It was light before. I wonder for a moment how long we’ve been here and I think it must be awhile because the moon is out and my legs are numb underneath me.

“I was looking.” His voice is raspy and I can tell that it’ll be gone by tomorrow.

“Looking for what?”

“Who,” Simon corrects instantly.

He’s not sobbing anymore, but I still watch the tears as they pool up in his eyes and spill over. I still see him shake and how Agatha squeezes him tighter when he does. He coughs.

“I was looking for someone.”

Agatha looks up at the sky for a moment, following Simon’s glance until she turns her attention to me. She looks at me as if she knows a secret that nobody else knows, and I think that there must be something in the stars that told her because I look at them too, but I don’t see anything. There aren’t even many stars out. Just the odd few coupled together in clusters. I look back at Agatha. She’s still looking at me with a glint in her eyes.

I don’t say anything because I don’t know if it’s my place to anymore — Agatha has this under control; I really don’t want to break Simon out of his serene trance now. Agatha shakes her head, smiles, and looks back to Simon, pushing curls back from his forehead. They stick up from the sticky sweat that coats him.

“Why don’t you go to rest? It’ll help you. In your room.” Simon looks at her, wipes his nose on his sleeve — which is gross, and I would say so, but my voice is still lost — and nods. Agatha helps him brush himself off, not even paying any attention to the grass stains covering her own skirt,  and helps him stand on his feet. She doesn’t let go of his arm until he wordlessly steps away from her and begins the walk towards Mummer’s House.

I quickly shoot up and shake my legs awake to start to follow because Agatha has given up the baton, but she grabs my hand in hers and pulls me back to the grass with her.

“Let him go,” she says.

“We should walk him back,” I argue. I’m surprised that I’m still here. We’re in the same world now, I think. Now that she’s back from Simon’s. “I’ll stay with him while he sleeps. He’s not well.”

Agatha shakes her head and smiles with the secret on her lips. “No, he’s not. But he will be.” She turns towards Mummer’s House and sighs. “He’s about to find what he’s been missing.”

I turn myself to look at Mummer’s House as well.  I see Simon stepping up the front stairs in distance, but I still don’t understand until 5 minutes later when I see Baz slowly cross the lawn to retire to his room.

_Everything is starting to make sense._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 3 is coming :)
> 
>  
> 
> FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO SKIPPED SAD/DEPRESSED VAMP BAZ:  
> Baz is a very very sad vamp without his little rosebud boy. He feels hopeless and doesn't want to believe in love because it just hurts him. He feels very empty and considers wiping his own memory of everything Simon. (He doesn't tho)
> 
>  
> 
> OKAY FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO SKIPPED SIMON'S MAJOR ANXIETY/PANIC ATTACK:  
> Simon begins thinking about Baz and realises that his memories of Baz have been slipping away. He suddenly can't find himself remembering practically anything having to do with Baz. (This is because of the dangers of casting memory spells on people. While Baz was thinking of removing the memory of that night, he was also considering removing himself entirely, as spoken about in the Baz POV. Baz low-key wanted to remove him from Simon's life because he ruins it. These thoughts messed up his casting and ended up slowly eating away all of Simon's memories of Baz.) Simon begins to panic and looks for Baz and he collapsed in the courtyard until Penny and Agatha find him.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is @ohhgoodgravy just in case you want to follow me there
> 
> I post fics and reblog stuff :)


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